


Degausser

by meat



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: F/M, Gift Exchange, Gift Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 10:10:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9230324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meat/pseuds/meat
Summary: "What took you so long?"





	

The first time that they meet is inconsequential. Prowl has the citation written and ready to be printed off when he feels his culprit zip past him, but their chase is cut short before it can start. Prowl is called off to another, bigger situation than a runaway traffic violator, and Prowl leaves the other mech to his own devices.

Already halfway across the polity, Arcee had nearly forgotten the encounter. Jhiaxus’ demands could not be limited by something as inconsequential as speed limits. Arcee finds some peace in driving while in alt, especially now, through one of the distinctly non-organic storms that plagued this area. It was enough to almost completely miss his comm unit chirping at him.

“What’s taking you so long?”

* * *

 

The reports are disturbing, but they are thorough. Prowl nods a wordless ‘thank you’ at this month’s messenger and turns back to his work. Jhiaxus was not necessarily a “household name” like the likes of Zeta or Sentinel or- or any Prime, really. He had never achieved that status during his lifetime. Technically, he _was_ still alive, but not in any kind of state that Prowl would consider ‘living’.

Prowl has already filed away the description, etched into his memory. He repeats the words of the reports over and over in his mind until they stick, and only then does he begin to pull them apart. Jhiaxus was not dead, but he would ‘die’ every day of his life for the foreseeable future, thanks to Arcee. It’s one less thing for him to worry about. Two less Cybertronians to organize tabs for, and while that only left Prowl with, ah, several billion others still in need of surveillance, those two being occupied came with an implication of safety.

With just two insane Cybertronians left in a cave to deal with their ‘issues’ for the foreseeable eternity before them, hundreds (if not thousands, or even more) of Cybertronians were now just a little bit safer. Prowl continued to scour the narrative that his messenger had presented him with, but the thought of celebration lingered just slightly on the edge of his mind. It’s then that Prowl realizes his messenger hasn’t yet left, still hovering just in the corner of his eye. Prowl does nothing more than vaguely look in their direction before they offer an explanation as to why: curiosity.

Prowl makes a mental note to never trust that messenger again, before he ‘kindly’ responds:

“Well, she has time to figure that out.”

* * *

 

“You know better than to leave such a mess.”

Prowl stands with his arms folded. Arcee doesn’t turn to look at him, but she knows the pose. She’s seen it before, and Primus willing, she will see it again when they’re done here. Arcee’s hands don’t leave the blade she had clutched close to her torso, but it isn’t in defense- really, it just felt natural.

“You’re not going to clean up at all, are you?”

Prowl takes a knee behind Arcee. Again, she can’t see it, but she still knows the pose. The difference now is that this is a new action- in fact, her mental image of Prowl now is borrowed from that of seeing him crouched over a crime scene, so long ago that Arcee can’t tell if she personally witnessed it or she saw it in a holovid somewhere. She chalks the recklessly defenseless position up to stress, though she can award just a bit of credit to Prowl’s fabled aversion to combat. You’d think that someone who prided himself on overthinking- on being able to see every move laid out before him- would know well enough to protect his vital organs around an assassin.

“I know what you’re thinking, Arcee. And I know that you won’t do it.”

Arcee cracks a smile, but stays still. Her gaze is still fixed on her view of Cybertron below her perch, below where she’s sat herself to reflect on a day's’ work, and where she knew Prowl was destined to find her.

“Do you really know, Prowl?”

They could play this game of back-and-forth cat-and-mouse whenever they chose, but they both know that now wasn’t the time for it. With war lying on the precipice, they can’t afford to waste any time. They both know that.

That’s why, this time, it’s more than a game.

Arcee stands, with the blades in her hands both still dripping energon. The day has faded since she carried out Prowl’s orders, but they’re a dead giveaway to the idea that something sinister has been taking place behind the scenes. They both know that she’ll clean them eventually, as their lives might (never do, no, Prowl has too many backup plans for that) depend on a lack of evidence on her chosen weapons. Prowl is still knelt there, and now Arcee can see that he’s been searching the twilight sky right alongside her. Reflecting, maybe.

Prowl is still knelt, still reflecting, as Arcee walks away. Their expressions do not change beyond Prowl’s blank contemplative look and Arcee’s ironed-on smile. Arcee’s hands do not leave her blades, but as she walks, the thought of brushing one hand against Prowl’s shoulder crosses her mind.

“I’ll know soon enough.”

* * *

 

Prowl wasn’t ‘right’ after Tarantulas.

He seems...shaken, to say the least, when he comes to Arcee. Maybe it’s the resemblance she saw between Jhiaxus and Tarantulas that drives her to let him, or maybe it’s something deeper. She doesn’t dwell on it. Arcee leaves Prowl to collapse on her couch- ‘her’ being used lightly, here, as she didn’t actually have ownership of the apartment she’d wandered into about a week prior- and she somehow finds herself allowing him to spend the night sleeping there.

Prowl’s armor quivers with something she’s reluctant to label as fear, even when he rests. He doesn’t seem to remember that he _needs_ fuel- or even that it exists, from how shocked his reaction is- until Arcee thrusts a can of low-grade into his hands. They shake and tremble as though he’d never held a soft drink before. Then again, maybe he hadn’t. Prowl’s lips remain parted even when he’s not actively drinking, and Arcee might have- no she _would have_ \- made a comment on it if she didn’t already know that look well. The only jarring part of it now is seeing it on Prowl, rather than staring back at her in a mirror.

She knows what it’s like to not be ‘right’. She knows what it’s like to never be ‘right’ again.

“It took you an hour to finish one drink.”

Prowl doesn’t seem to register that she’s spoken for a long few seconds. Arcee leans against the kitchen doorsill, not quite looking at Prowl but not quite ignoring him. Acknowledgement, without having to stare directly at him.

“I haven’t- it hasn’t been that long.”

One optic searches the floor of Arcee’s apartment. Arcee still doesn’t look quite at Prowl, but she puts a special focus onto the vision in the corner of her optics, in all of its pathetic, washed out, black-and-white-and-bruised-all-over glory.

“Maybe you should rest.”

“No! No, no, no,” Prowl trails off into murmuring, then seems to collect himself. “I need a few days to get myself back in shape. A few more days.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to that,” Arcee replies, maybe a little too quickly. “All I remember is letting you in and letting you pass out on the couch.”

Prowl looks legitimately horrified. His mouth gapes for a moment as he pulls back to look at Arcee, before he can snap himself into a more dignified look. He looks scared, and he looks _genuine_ when he looks scared. It’s terrifying in its own right for Arcee, who’s still not-quite-staring. Not _exactly_ staring, no. Hardly even looking at him at all. Prowl looks poised to say ‘I have nowhere else to go’, but they both seem to know that he isn’t ready for that.

“I can leave whenever I want to. I can go wherever I want from here.”

“Then do it,” Arcee spits back, and now she’s definitely only looking at Prowl a bit. Only looking into his missing optic, not making eye contact. “Get up, and leave. You want to, don’t you?”

Prowl meets her gaze- that definitely, really into a gaze at all- and he meets it without pride. Without the arrogance he carried with him throughout his everyday life, throughout all of the years that Arcee and Prowl had known each other, or known _of_ each other, and even before that point. Prowl seems terrified, still, and if Arcee knew as much about him as she pretended not to for his own ego, Arcee would guess that he was.

His response is stilted, but really, that could be said for all of their normal conversations. “Maybe I don’t want to leave.”

A pause.

“Are you admitting that you like being around me?”

Arcee doesn’t hide the fact that she’s looking straight into Prowl’s optics- both of them, the hole where one should be and the crisp blue light that seeps out from his other one. Prowl’s look can convey a thousand stilted words that they would both never deem as ‘awkward’, even if they both know this conversation will be buried as soon as either of them leaves the apartment. It’s a special, rare moment that could only come out of a trauma so great as the one Tarantulas had inflicted on Prowl.

Arcee knows that, and she knows it well. She knows it, because that very same kind of life-shattering, unbearable trauma is what shaped her into the woman she was today. She knows that, and she knows that what happened to Prowl at the hands of Tarantulas will fill the very same role with him. With that in mind, Arcee slinks off of the kitchen doorsill. She heads for the door, but not for any particular destination beyond it other than ‘out’.

As she walks past Prowl, she cracks a smile.

“What took you so long?”


End file.
